


In-Flight Meal

by ArtHistory



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtHistory/pseuds/ArtHistory
Summary: If you're sweet enough, airlines will give you extra snacks...





	In-Flight Meal

221C.

John grinned, wide. A first-class seat! Lord, was he lucky!

He practically skipped down the aisle of the jumbo jet, ticket held out in front of him like he’d won a tour of Mr. Wonka’s factory. And he damn near felt like he had.

The woman behind the desk at the terminal in Indianapolis had cheerfully informed him he’d been randomly selected to be upgraded, and John had nearly fainted with glee. A first-class flight for the price of economy! How lucky could you be!

John hiccupped, feeling slightly sheepish as his belly bounced. He’d flown to the great, American city for a medical conference during something Indiana liked to call “Devour Indy”. A celebration (and marketing campaign) to encourage dining in Indianapolis restaurant. Discounted prices on massive food, often literally including everything from soup to dessert. Never one to miss a sale, the frugal doctor had…

Indulged.

John ran a slightly soft hand over his middle, feeling each digit sink into the plush, caramel cream that had come to reside on what had been (he swore!) six-pack abs not long ago. What did these Americans put in their food? …And where could he get some?

John chuckled to himself again. He hadn’t worried about his weight since he packed on well over one hundred pounds during university. The army had sliced that weight off of him, and he was sure that, once he was back in London, he’d be his fit, trim self again. In the meantime, he shimmied lightly, tugging the tight waistband of his jeans a bit lower, his hips and arse feeling wider as the denim hugged them tight, blooming love handles peeking out over the sides of his jeans, belly much happier as it was given more room to expand outward into the air.

Then he looked down.

“Christ” John gulped, turning beet red. He’d arrived at his seat in first class. 221c. He’d entirely forgotten he’d have neighbor. 221b.  There seemed to be a privacy around their two seats, but it was open, given the man a Broadway production of “Fat John, a Symphony of Movement”

The handsome man in 221b had just seen him do a gleeful, fatty dance., wiggling his softened hips then sigh in relief and relax his gut further.

And 221b was the most attractive creature he’d ever seen.

“John Watson” John said, immediately sticking out his hand, his belly at the handsome stranger’s eye-level,

“M.D.” He added.

Those eyes (ice blue, like a damn Game of Thrones dragon) widened.

“Dr. Watson?” The man said. His skin was smooth, ivory, which only made his ebony hair (curly, and incredibly soft-looking, John wanted to touch it. To tug his hands into those perfect, black ringlets and-)

“Ai. Dr. John Watson.” John said, his throat feeling tight

The man reached out. His hands were large, but soft. And so very warm.

“Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective.” His voice was as dark and rich as molasses, John wanted to swim in it, let it bath over him, flood his very-,

“I assume you’re my new flatmate then?” The man joked.

John laughed, a touch too loud, then settled in next to Mr. Hol-

Sherlock.

John was suddenly quite aware of his middle again, feeling the chubby thing blorp up over the button of his jeans, desperate to meet his chunkier thighs. He rested a hand on it again, then took a moment to truly take in his new…flatmate.

He was bigger than John, in height and…weight. He wouldn’t hesitate to describe the man as fat, but Sherlock seemed more…decadent. Like an oil painting of a thickened, round-bellied man being fed grapes. And the way Sherlock was looking at him, John was wondering if he was the one meant to be feeding him,

Or the meal.

“So you um…fly often?” John asked, still smiling, watching the dark-haired Adonis watch him.

“Often enough.” Sherlock answered. He leaned forward, an elegance and fluidity to his movements, like an artist skillfully making a brushstroke. His frankly massive middle turned to thick, grabbable rolls beneath his sinfully tight shirt, its buttons spreading, revealing a sea of white marble beneath it.

“Often enough that I know my palate isn’t quite satisfied with airline food.” He smiled, his cupid’s bow lips revealing a dazzling set of teeth. In his hands was a very expensive bar of chocolate, which he broke a chunk off of, popping it into his mouth. He broke off two squares, sliding them in front of John.

The doctor chuckled again, taking the pieces with a ‘Thanks’ and eating them.

Something flashed in those ice blue eyes, and John was suddenly quite aware of his middle, his budding second chin.

“So you’re uh…a detective then?” John asked. He jumped as the stewardess offered them each two bags of peanuts. They were hefty things too! Lord first class was fancy!

John accepted with a grin, opening his own, mouth still full of chocolate, and digging in. Something about devouring Indianapolis had brought him back to his college-days of…well…enjoying eating. One last hurrah on his flight home couldn’t do that much more damage.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered. His head cocked to one side, lashes fluttering slowly closed, then open. John had read somewhere that cats blink slowly around people they like, or are interested in. Though the mountainous man before him felt much more like a panther than a housecat…

They chatted for a while, he and this stranger hitting it off like they’d known each other for years, and they next thing John knew he was belching into his fist, four empty bags of peanuts before him. He panted, almost pinned beneath the weight of his massively overfilled stomach. He rubbed a hand over it, gulping at its size. He looks positively indecent, belly like a hog’s bulging out before him, stretching his oatmeal jumper out to the point that his neighbor could see the indent of his belly button.

“Heh, might have overdone-“

And then there was the stewardess again, a different one this time, asking if he wanted beef or chicken. He stammered out beef, acting on instinct, Sherlock got the same.

“Lord, I’m going to pop by the end of this-“

A meal in front of him, hot and reader. John gulped, his middle gurgling. Then Sherlock’s hand was in his lap?! No, no. On his tray, obscuring his meal for-

Another stewardess. Beef or chicken. Sherlock ordered them each a chicken. Two more meals in front of them.

Then four on his little tray, filling it up entirely.

John chuckled, his mouth suddenly quite dry. He looked to Sherlock.

“And what do you expect me to do with four meals?” He tried to joke, swallowing hard. His pulse was racing. This felt so wrong. So sinful. He was full to bursting with a gorgeous stranger’s eyes devouring every inch of him.

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” Sherlock said, voice a low growl.

“Eat them.”

A dark spot appeared on John’s trousers.

“Oh fuck yes”

The next hour was a haze of cramming in four different meals. They were designed to be heavy, calorically rich, to keep passengers from getting hungry again, so each bite was like a pat of butter sliding down his throat. John swelled and swelled, Sherlock fucking Holmes’ hand suddenly stroking his thigh, his meaty chest on John’s shoulder, his mouth in John’s ear, whispering all sorts of terrible things that only made John want to eat faster, eat more.

By the end of his feast John was gasping, belching, his cock aching along with his gut, jumper surrendering inch after inch until it finally just rested beneath his chest. His belly was hot to the touch, and unimaginably tight.

“Sherlock” He breathed, and then the man’s hands were on him.

They smoothed over his gut, rubbing it desperately, worshipping the bloated, fatty thing.

“John” Sherlock breathed.

Then he tugged the curtain closed.

John’s cock was freed from the prison of his jeans in a matter of seconds, the doctor gasping as his gut bloated upwards into the air that much further, button to his trousers springing free, zipping forcing itself open.

Then Sherlock’s clever mouth was nestled in the sea of John’s golden curls, lips bobbing around his throbbing cock as his hands continued to grab and rub at the man’s painfully stuffed gut.

“Ah! Oh! Sh-Sherlock! Fuck!” John gasped, trying to keep quiet

“Fuck I want to get fat! I want to get so, fucking fat! Bigger than you! Bigger than this damn plane! I just want to eat and eat and-“

John came with a wordless cry, his hands finally sliding into Sherlock’s hair, gripping those soft curls as Sherlock swallowed him down.

He shivered as Sherlock kissed his way up the doctor’s gut, mouthing at his belly button before finding his mouth. The kiss was slow, and long.

“I’d be happy to help with that.” Sherlock purred, his hands still rubbing at John’s bloated form.

“I’ve been looking for a flatmate…”


End file.
